


Never, Ever Scream

by casstayinmyass



Category: Dead Silence (2007), Supernatural
Genre: Bisexual Dean, Canon-Typical Violence, Creepy Dummy, Crossover, Dead Silence Fusion, Flirty Dean, Gen, Ghost Ganking, Horror, Hunter Dean, Hunter Sam, Hunters & Hunting, Psychological Horror, Sam Winchester Takes Care of Dean Winchester, Scary Poem, Season/Series 02, possessed doll
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-01
Updated: 2016-06-01
Packaged: 2018-07-11 15:56:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7059427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casstayinmyass/pseuds/casstayinmyass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean make a stop through the small town of Raven's Fair, only to discover a horrifying legend of a strange ventriloquist dummy and its eccentric mother that has been plaguing the townspeople for decades.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I love the 2007 movie Dead Silence, and couldn't help think while I watched it recently that this would be a great hunt for Sam and Dean! So, if you liked that movie too, or don't even know the story at all, please enjoy :)

_Beware the stare of Mary Shaw_

_She had no children, only dolls_

_And if you see her in your dreams,_

_Be sure you never, ever scream._

She ran as fast as she could from the house, stumbling over her own feet as she fled. She could hear the echo of that evil laugh behind her, which propelled her feet to move that much faster. As she approached the entrance to the forest behind her house, she stopped suddenly. There was fog rolling in, covering the grass, and she could barely see a thing. She bit her lip as she looked back to where the sounds were coming from, and decided to keep going. She heard the humming coming closer, soft and distant like a nursery rhyme. Tears spilled over her cheeks as she cried out for help.

"Somebody! Somebody PLEASE! Help me!" She ran on, looking over her shoulder as she listened to the singing begin to circle around her. She tripped on something, and looked down through the fog to see a tombstone, cracked and dilapidated. To her horror, she found dozens of other gravestones, scattered throughout… But they looked tiny, almost like they were made for… dolls.

She tried to get up, but her foot snagged on the broken piece of stone. She pulled, but a voice right behind her startled her to the ground again.

" _Karen_ ," it sing-songed, "Where _are_ you, Karen?" She whimpered as the voice seemed to be emanating from all around her at the same time.

"L-leave me al-lone!" she cried, hugging her knees to her chest. A giggle rang out through the night air, and she felt a force pull her back against the dirt, head facing the clouded sky. Suddenly, everything seemed to slow. The sound of the wind rustling through the trees, the rush of nearby traffic, all went quiet.

Karen looked around, shaking. "Hello, Karen," the dummy spoke, popping out and grinning its painted smile as her last scream pierced through the dead silence.


	2. Chapter 2

The Impala shot down the road, dipping in every pothole in the unfinished pavement and soaring over bumps.

"Dean, would you slow down?" Sam asked incredulously, "Your reckless driving is more dangerous than half the stuff we hunt!" Dean looked over, narrowing his eyes.

"You're such a party pooper, you know that?"

"Well, someone's gotta be!"

Dean ruffled his brother's hair, much to Sam's annoyance, "Come on, Sammy! Live a little! Life is full of bumps and potholes."

To emphasize his point, a dip in the road caused them to bounce in their seat. Sam rolled his eyes over to him. "Oh, that's real deep, Dean." Dean just turned up the metal music a little louder to drown out his brother, and Sam shook his head as he went back to examining the reports.

“So, over the past couple weeks, there have been synchronized murders in town that each seem to follow a pattern.”

“Sounds like fun.”

They pulled up at an off-road bar, sign gleaming in the evening above them. They pulled into the parking lot, and Dean shut off the music. "Well. I say we go in for a few drinks before we hit the hay, sound good to you?" Sam looked up at him.

"You mean, so you can get hammered and pick up some random chick or dude while I search for cases in the area?" Dean nodded with a boyish grin.

"Basically."

Sam sighed. “Fine- but I won’t have any sympathy for you when you can’t walk tomorrow.”

“ _When_?”

“Yes, when.”

Dean chuckled as Sam smirked, unbuckling his seatbelt and getting out. The two walked toward the place, and noticed that there weren't many people. "Hey, where is everybody?" Dean joked as they walked through the double doors. The bartender just looked up solemnly, and went back to polishing a glass. Dean raised an eyebrow, and noticed a biker-looking guy with tattoo sleeves up both arms and long hair. He was also ripped and intimidating- totally Dean’s type. He was the only decent looking one in the entire place, so the hunter sauntered over.

“Howdy,” Dean grinned. The guy looked up and actually _growled_ at him. “Ah… you’re a tough guy,” he teased, eyes running over the guy’s muscles, “Me likey.”

Receiving no more of an intelligible response this time, the hunter sighed, and went over to the bar order- he could tell when he was grasping. Sam sat down at an empty table, shaking his head at his brother’s pathetic attempt. He brushed aside a few crumbs and a dirty napkin, and took out a stack of newspapers, beginning to leaf through them.

Dean turned to the bartender, putting on his smile again. "Hey there. Nice place you’ve got here! Not exactly the Copacabana, but… close enough, right?" He winked at her, receiving a blank stare. "You know, Barry Manilow?" Unfortunately, he began singing. " _At the copa, Copacabana, music and passion, we're always the fashion at the…"_ he trailed off as the bartender looked about ready to throw him out, and looked down, slowly dropping the smile. "Guess not."

He ordered two beers with a frown, and went to sit with Sam as there were no more hot chicks or dudes to chat up at the moment.

"Got anything yet?" Dean asked, taking a sip, and Sam nodded.

"Actually, yeah. Just recently, there was a 17 year old girl named Karen Mulkahee. All the victim's tongues were seemingly ripped out, their jaw broken in three places." Dean winced, and furrowed his brow at the picture.

"Jesus. But how does this have anything to do with us? This doesn't sound like our kind of gig, just some psycho with a knack for rearranging faces."

Sam held up a finger. "Wait, that's not all. Apparently, witnesses such as her parents claim to find a _doll_ near the scene of the crime, and it's the same one every time." Dean blinked.

"And you think it could be possessed, maybe the one killing these people?" Sam shrugged.

"Seems likely. But I'll do some research into some local lore once we get back to the motel."

Dean sighed as he surveyed the bar, empty save for Khal Drogo in the corner over there. "Well, there's not much point hanging 'round here. Let's just go check in."

Dean paid, and they went back to the Impala. They drove a few blocks down, and came to an old, beaten up looking motel. "Raven's Fair Motel," Sam read. "Wow. Original."

They walked in, and Dean rung a bell by the counter. A sour looking man came out, and gave the boys a once over. "Who're you?" he asked gruffly, and Dean looked over at Sam.

"Uh, we're looking for a room." The man just stared at them coldly for a second.

"Well, this town is just one big jumping party," Dean mumbled, and Sam swatted him. The man opened a dusty book, and opened an ancient looking computer.

"Your credit card, please," he said, and Dean took out one of the many.

The man read the name on the card, and raised an eyebrow as he compared the picture to Dean. "Dick Champion?" he asked, and Sam had to hold back a laugh.

"Yup, that's me, 'ol Dickie!" Dean smiled, trying to hold in a laugh as well. The man ran the card through, and gave it back.

"You've got room number 21, Mr. Champion," he grumbled, and Sam thanked him.

"Want me to take in the welcome mat, or will you ring Igor to do that?" Dean asked sarcastically from down the hall, and Sam nudged him. They let themselves in with the key, and threw their jackets on the beds. The red light of the sign blinked on, off, on, off as it alerted non-existent tourists of its service.

Sam flopped down in the chair by the window, and opened his laptop. After a few minutes of searching, he looked up. "I didn't find anything on a killer doll, but I did find something on an old woman ventriloquist called 'Mary Shaw,' who made over one hundred dolls when she was alive." He flipped the screen around to show pictures of some of the dolls.

Dean wrinkled his nose. "Ew. Those things creep the hell out of me."

"Yeah. It says here that at one of her shows, a boy doubted the doll could actually talk, so a few months later, she kidnapped him and murdered him. The townspeople were angry, so they stormed her house and cut out her tongue, before burning her alive."

Dean shook his head. "This town just keeps getting better and better."

"When she died, she wanted to become a doll herself, so they did plastic surgery on her to make her into a real one," Sam shuddered, and continued uneasily, "Legend has it, she goes after anyone or anyone descended from the people that killed her. She vowed revenge, and now –get this- she rips out people's tongues and breaks their jaw if they scream when they see her. Dean hummed.

"So, Mary here's got a bee in her bonnet with anyone who is related to her murder… sounds like vengeful spirit material to me. But how can the doll have anything to do with it?"

"It's possible that Mary possesses the doll to kill her victims, or even just to frighten them into screaming. There's also a poem that the townspeople made up: Beware the stare of Mary Shaw. She had no children, only dolls. And if you see her do not scream, or she'll rip your tongue out at the seam. And if you see her remember this, the only thing that can stop her is dead silence."

Dean frowned. "Dead silence?" Sam looked up.

"I don't know. Maybe we can look further into it if we ask the townspeople what they know." Dean nodded.

"Well Sammy, looks like we’ve got ourselves a hunt. Let's get some sleep, and ask around in the morning."

-0-0-0-

Dean woke up with a groan as he felt a pillow hit his face, and opened his eyes groggily to find Sam, up and chipper, holding a large, gross-looking coffee in his hand.

"Get up, Dean. We need to get an early start on this Mary Shaw thing." Dean grunted to himself as he checked the time on the bedside clock, closing his eyes in disdain after seeing that it was 7:00 AM, even though it felt like 5.

"When did you get up, Miss Sunshine?" Dean grumbled as he rolled out of bed. Sam thought for a second as he packed up some stuff.

"Uh… 5:30, I think?" Dean rolled his eyes.

"Figures. Alright, got any idea if this place has any hot water? Good water pressure?" Sam grimaced, taking a sip of coffee.

"Nope. I had to get a cold one, princess, and the water pressure is shit."

Dean groaned again, slamming his face into the pillow. "I _hate_ this town."

A little while later, when they had gotten ready and checked where the witnesses lived, they made their way out to town in the Impala.

"So… 144 Old Birch Lane?" Dean asked, peering over the dashboard to check the street names. Sam took another look at the map.

 "Yeah. That's where the mortician and his wife live. Apparently, the mortician had a close run-in with Mary Shaw's ghost a few months ago. Or so he says."

Dean nodded, and pulled up to the driveway of what the address led them to. They got out, went up to the door of the big white house, and knocked.

They heard footsteps coming to the entryway, and a kindly old man answered. He had smile lines from years of good-nature, but he looked weary at present.

Sam cleared his throat, ready to pull out ID for Raven's Fair reporters, but the man nodded to them knowingly. "You must be the forensic analysts, come for the report?" Dean looked at Sam quickly, then back to the man.

"Uh… yeah. I'm, um, Dr…. Randleman, and this is Dr. Spoonworth, with the Raven's Fair police."

The old man didn't seem like he needed any more convincing, so luckily, they didn't need IDs for that. As he turned and beckoned for them to follow, Sam looked at Dean with a frown that questioned the ridiculous names he had given them. Dean shrugged, and turned back to the man.

"I'm Henry Walker. It's a pleasure to meet you boys- the forensics department called me and asked if they could get a look at the body," Sam shot Dean a pointed look that warned they had to make this investigation hasty, since real analysts would be coming soon, "It's down these steps, here. It's just like what happened to the last poor man and his wife."

Sam looked at him, the reference ringing a bell from his reading. "Would that be Jamie and his wife, uh, Lisa?" Henry looked up, and nodded solemnly.

"Yes. I knew him, Jamie. Good kid, just looking for a quiet life with his fiancé. Until…" he looked away, and waved his hand. "Well, anyway, come on down here, and I'll show her to you." Dean glanced over at Sam, raising his eyebrow at the close mention of what they knew he saw before.

They made it down to the brightly lit cellar, dirt and grime creeping at the cracks in the wall. Henry chuckled. "This place has sure seen its days. My father was a mortician before me, my grandfather as well." Dean laughed.

"Super family biz."

Sam nudged him in disbelief at his rudeness, and Henry just smiled. "No, no. You're right. It isn't the most uplifting job to be doing, taking pictures of murder victims and preparing dead bodies for wakes. You should know, since you spend time around them too." The brothers looked at each other, adjusting their ties and nodding quickly.

“Yeah.”

"Yeah, of course."

Henry went on. "But it pays pretty well considering the time of economic hardship in town, ever since tourism went down."

Sam raised his eyebrows in interest. "Oh yeah? And when was this? I mean, we were only just located to this force, so…"

"Oh, quite some time ago. About a couple decades, I’d say. I was a young man at the time, had just taken over the business. Raven's Fair was booming, the height of tourism, with people coming from all over the country to see the Fair, everything new and modernized, for the time of course. But ever since the legend of…" he cleared his throat, "The _legend_ came to light, and people started dying off at a disturbing rate, nobody wanted to visit. Jobs were scarce, most stores went out of business. I'm one of the only organizations still around from back then."

"This legend," Sam started, shaking his head, "Could you tell us a little about it?" Henry looked down.

"We… well, people here…. don't really like to talk about it very much…" Dean spoke up.

"Please, Mr. Walker, we would really appreciate it." Henry shrugged.

"Surprised you two haven’t heard it already, even being new. I mean, everyone here knows about her."

"Who?"

 Henry looked around, cautious as if someone else could hear. "Mary Shaw. She wanders the empty rooms of the old theatre across town…" Sam and Dean exchanged another look, and looked back at Henry.

"Yeah, we've heard that legend," Dean said, "But we don't really know what's been going on with the murders. You seem to know more about how it really happened, since we just, ya know… analyze stuff." Sam stared at Dean incredulously as Henry turned his back.

"Well, I've had so many come to me after the murders, and I've got pictures of all of them." He led them to a big book on the countertop, and opened it, flipping through page after page of bodies just like the one on the table.

 "Son of a bitch," Dean mumbled, and Henry turned to the two of them, narrowing his eyes.

"You know, you boys don't strike me as forensic analysts. I've met them before, believe me. They get in, do their job, and get out. You seem like you're more interested in the… _supernatural_ part of this, than the science of it."

Sam swallowed, and Dean scratched his neck. "Uh…" Henry looked back and forth between them. "Who are you? Really?"

There was a knock at the door, and Sam and Dean took this time to leave. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Walker. We really do appreciate it," Sam said, shaking his hand, and they walked up the stairs. Henry just looked after them, raising his eyebrows a little, but since they had been rather nice, he didn't say anything else.

As they were leaving, the boys heard a low mumbling sound, coming from the backyard. "Dean, we shouldn't…" Sam tried, but Dean just looked around, letting himself into the backyard. They crept along the wall of the house, keeping as quiet as they could, and stopped in their tracks as they saw an old woman, white hair long and mussed, stroking what looked like a dead crow, and mumbling reassurance to it. She was swinging leisurely on a white porch swing.

Sam cringed at the dead bird, and Dean wrinkled his nose, but they approached cautiously. "Excuse me, ma'am?" Dean asked, reaching into his coat pocket for his fake badge. She looked up, with sunken eyes and the same weary features as Henry.

"Are you Henry's wife?" Sam asked, raising his eyebrows earnestly. She looked over at him, and nodded distantly.

"Ma'am, we're with the Raven's Fair news, and we were just wondering if you could answer a few questions for us," Dean asked.

The old woman looked down again to the crow, and began petting its head, whispering to it as if she had forgotten the boys were even there.

“Dean, we shouldn’t-“ Sam whispered, but Dean stepped on his foot as they watched her mumble.

"It'll be alright now… don't you worry… she won't come for us…" Dean frowned, and Sam swallowed before attempting to ask again.

"Who do you mean, Mrs. Walker?" he asked softly. She suddenly got up, grabbing Sam by the collar and looking frantically between the two brothers.

"You… you have to get out before she finds you! She's coming… I can here her speak to me sometimes… Henry doesn't believe me… oh…." She sat back down, stroking her bird a little bit more quickly now and rocking back and forth on the swing.

Dean looked ready to ask another question, but Sam motioned for Dean to follow his exit. "Thank you for your time, Mrs. Walker," he said politely, but she didn't seem to hear him. They went out the gate, and back to the Impala.

"Well, that was one nutty grandma," Dean said through raised eyebrows as he got into the driver's side of the car. Sam sighed.

"Dean, she's probably seen some deeply scarring things. It can drive anyone to hysteria." Dean looked from Sam to the backyard and back.

"We've seen some 'deeply scarring' stuff too, you and me," he said with mock-emotion as he leaned closer to his brother, "But dude - if I _ever_ start petting a dead bird and talking to myself, please shoot me and put me out of my misery, right between the eyes, before I wander off and start thinking I'm Captain Kirk, okay?"

Sam rolled his eyes and huffed, turning to face forward. "You’re so fucking apathetic. You know, I felt sorry for her- and Henry too, I mean… it must be hard seeing someone you love like that."

"Hey, it could be worse, man," Dean said, revving the engine, "At least they made it out alive."

Sam looked out the window. "So far, at least." Dean looked over, a stone cold glare gracing his features.

"As long as we're on this job, nobody else is dying, not on my watch."

"We can't save everyone, Dean."

"No… but we can try."

The two drove off into town to investigate the old theatre Henry had mentioned.


	3. Chapter 3

The theatre was just as run-down and derelict as the rest of the little town, but Sam and Dean were prepared. Moonlight reflecting off of the murky lake surrounding the theatre, they entered the old place caring less of ghosts and what could be hiding, and more of how sturdy the floorboards were.

“I don’t think this is very safe,” Sam muttered, “These could cave at any second, and this place is built over a lake.”

“Yeah… and who knows how many old bags of bones are floating around here?” Dean added, eliciting a bitchface from Sam. There was some creaking, and the two turned.

“Mary Shaw!” Dean called, “That your name?” Sam watched the EMF closely as they went, taking care to watch where he stepped as well. “So… heard you’ve been a bit of a dick to the townspeople!” Dean continued, and Sam looked up with raised eyebrows.

“Uh, Dean? We’re kind of on her turf. It might not be a good idea to piss her off just yet.”

“Shut up, I’ve got this.” They kept walking, and eventually made it to a hidden room with a wall of dolls.

“Fuck.”

“Yeah…” Sam agreed, shining a flashlight to all of them, “There must be at least a hundred of these things here!”

“She must have spent her whole life building them, dude.”

“No wonder she wanted to become one.”

They kept walking, into a small room with layers of dust caked on everything. Sam looked over to the corner, where another doll was sitting, smilingly perched atop a mound of books on a cabinet. Sam went over cautiously.

“This one’s different, Dean… he’s not dusty. In fact…”

“Little son of a bitch looks like he’s just been _polished_!” Dean finished, and Sam nodded. The younger Winchester lifted the creepy doll off of the books, inspecting it. “Billy’s carved into the bottom.”

“Billy, huh? Douche name,” Dean muttered antagonistically. Sam blew dust off the top one, flipping it open. Illuminating the grimy pages, he inspected it.

“What is it? Summoning spells? Demonic rituals? Love letters?” Dean joked, investigating the other side of the room. Sam huffed a laugh.

“No… blueprints.” Dean frowned.

“For what?”

“The dolls,” Sam muttered, face twisting up. “She’s got one constant sentence all over the place… “To make the perfect doll.”” Suddenly, the clean doll’s eyes began to move slowly to look over at Sam, but the brothers didn’t notice.

Just then, they both heard a loud creak and bang from down the hall, and they both jogged out of the room through some cobwebs. Coming to a beam overtop of what used to be the grand stage, Sam took a long ladder down to the backstage that wasn’t underwater, while Dean opted to walk out across the high beam. Trying not to look down at the height, he opened his arms, flashlight illuminating the water beneath them. “COME ON OUT, MARY, WE KNOW WHAT YOU DID! You deserved to get your tongue ripped out, didn’t you? You’re a _monster_!”

Sam glared incredulously, but Dean just held up a finger. Suddenly, everything that made a noise stopped… the theatre was deadly silent, and Dean frowned, looking around. The only sound he could hear was his own breath… and then she appeared.

“Holy shit- what a looker,” Dean murmured under his breath, backing up across the beam. The decomposing spectre of the old woman gazed at him from behind the billowing stage curtain, advancing closer and closer. Sam stared up from below.

“What is it?”

“Sammy,” Dean murmured calmly, keeping his hands out for balance, “Toss me up a double barrel?”

“Is she there?!”

“Just do it!”

Sam rummaged through the duffel, but before he could throw anything up to Dean, Mary ran forward at Dean, pushing him with the force of a truck. Winded, Dean went flying off of the beam, and fell at least two stories with a loud splash into the water.

“DEAN!” Sam called, and looked back up, only to find a fluttering curtain in the spirit’s wake. She was gone for now, but she was still in the theatre- Sam could hear her laugh echoing.

“Dean!” he called again, trying to find a way to help him out. He wasn’t resurfacing.

From underwater, Dean tried to recover from the impact- his brain was racing, his whole body ached, and he didn’t know which way was up. Feeling the air quickly leaving his lungs as he panicked, the older brother extended his arms to feel around- and felt something. Opening his eyes, he could see through the bubbles floating clothing, those of little kids. Opening his mouth, Dean kicked away, accidentally lodging himself under a plank.

“Come on!” Sam hissed from above, unable to see beneath the surface of the dark lake water. Clenching his jaw, he jumped in, and after searching, found Dean caught under some wood. Prying him loose, Sam looked up, and swam to where he jumped in. Heaving, he dragged Dean out into the hallway, laying him flat on his back. A bruise was already forming around his eye, and his lips were blue.

“Dean, don’t do this to me,” Sam muttered, pressing down on his chest, “You’re such an idiot.” After a minute, Dean’s mouth opened, and he gasped for air, coughing up water in the process.

“Agh,” he choked, “Motherfucker…” He flipped over to spit out more dirty water, and Sam grimaced.

“What did you see?” Sam asked quietly, and Dean turned, catching his breath with a haunted expression.

“We’ve got to stop her, Sammy.”

-0-0-0-

“You still haven’t given me a good reason why you were snooping around that old theatre,” the Sheriff of Raven’s Fair sighed, sitting down at his desk, “It’s dangerous in there… been abandoned for years for a reason.”

“We know,” Sam said.

“But we’re just… such big fans of haunted places,” Dean feigned, grinning like a fanboy, “That we couldn’t resist.”

“You see, Sheriff,” Sam added, “Documenting the haunting of that old place for our… web series, has been our dream for years. And we _finally_ did it!”

“Web series, eh? You aren’t part of those dweebs, are you…? Uh, Ghostcrushers…. er, Ghostbangers…?”

“Ghostfacers?” Sam asked slowly, looking at Dean.

“Yes! If you’re in cahoots with them, I want you out of my town.”

“N-no,” Dean cut in, “No sir, believe us- we hate those losers just as much as you do. We just wanted to get some attention for our website, and find something in the theatre.”

The Sheriff snorted. “Find anything?”

Sam and Dean looked at each other, shaking their heads simultaneously.

“Nope.”

“Not a thing.”

The sheriff smiled, crossing his arms. “You boys are lucky I don’t detain you for trespassing. Be careful- you could have been killed!”

“Yeah,” Dean muttered, “Got that.”

“Sheriff, all we’re asking is for a little information,” Sam explained.

“There were kid’s clothes down there,” Dean said, “You’ve got to know something.”

The man sighed. “The cases of the disappearing child have been closed for years. Boy’s parents have peace of mind knowing it was that old bat with the dolls- and they got her justice when she died. We don’t need to open it back up again!”

“Forgive me sir, but… do parents ever really have peace of mind knowing their child was murdered?”

The sheriff nodded, looking down. “Son… I’ve been the sheriff of Raven’s Fair for twenty years. I remember when it happened. We took care of it. We all took care of it. I won’t give it a second thought again until the day I die.”

“If you don’t help us, that could be real soon!” Dean insisted, and the man frowned.

“Is that a threat?”

“No!” Sam interjected quickly, putting his hands up, “No, sir. My brother’s just… passionate, about the existence of this, eh… ghost.”

“Well, you better take your EMV meters and all that to the next town, ‘cause I don’t want any of this hoodoo here.”

“EMF,” Dean muttered, and Sam smacked his knee.

“We won’t bother you anymore,” Sam nodded with that kissass smile of his, and Dean grinned at the enforcement officer as well. The officer narrowed his eyes, and waved his hand.

“Go on, then.”

The brothers let out a sigh of relief, and hurried out to Baby. 

“I know why the poem says dead silence,” Dean informed him, as he hadn’t had a chance before they got to the station, “It goes quiet before she appears.”

“Right,” Sam murmured, “Makes sense.”

“Well, anyway, that lovely encounter got us a big steaming pile of nothing.”

“Not nothing,” Sam corrected, getting in, “At least we know the sheriff was in on the murder of Mary Shaw. If he has any children, they’re probably a revenge target.”

“Huh,” Dean murmured, “So Sheriff Douchenozzle’s offspring are on Mary’s hitlist… god knows why anyone would breed with that asshole.”

Sam gave him a look, so Dean finished his thought. “Does that mean she’ll follow him?” Sam winced.

“Hard to tell. I say we stick to who we know knows something… Henry.”

“Right,” Dean said, “We’ll pay him a visit tomorrow.” Sam nodded, and they drove off on their way back to the motel.

From the station window, the Sheriff peered through his blinds at the impala fading off, and dialed a number, all the while staring worriedly at a family portrait of him, his wife, and his 12-year-old son.

“Bill? Call your wife, tell her to keep Miranda home from school, don’t let her go out tonight. Tell the whole goddamn town… I think she’s back.”

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

The next day, before going to Henry’s place, the Winchesters had spent the day attempting to wrangle a little extra from  the townspeople on Mary Shaw, but no one would talk. Once afternoon came, they made their way to the mortician’s house.

“Man, this is one spooked town,” Dean muttered as the impala pulled up with a growl of the engine at the white homestead of Henry, and the two got out. It was oddly quiet, and the swing was empty in the backyard.

“You gettin’ the hair-raising vibe?” Dean asked quietly, “Cause I am.”

Sam knocked on the door. “Henry?!”

Hearing no response, Dean frowned, pounding on the door.

“Henry, open up!” he yelled, then Sam got out the lock-picking materials. Once they had broken in, they heard whimpers from downstairs. Dean motioned for Sam to follow behind, and the two drew their guns and made their way down to the cellar where they had been before. There they found Henry… clutching his wife in his arms and rocking back and forth.

“Henry,” Dean mumbled, going over. The older man looked up, eyes red from crying.

“I found her down here… she was… she went into the tunnel…” The Winchesters glanced to the little tunnel he was talking about, and Henry held his wife closer. “Marion… oh, Marion…” He composed himself a little, and blinked up at them. “What are you doing here, Dr. Spoonworth? Dr. Randleman?”

“What happened?” Sam cut in.

“She must have… fallen, or… god rest her… simply slipped away,” he whispered. Sam inspected her nails from afar, and saw that they were chipped and bloody, as if trying to beat something off.

“Sorry sir, but… do you really believe that?” Sam asked softly. Henry looked up, and sniffed.

“What do you mean?”

“You know exactly what we mean,” Dean said, crossing his arms. Now, he wasn’t about to hammer the guy for information- his wife had just died- but they were too close now. Henry sighed, and avoided their eyes.

“She… she hasn’t been back for years… why now?” he mumbled.

“Take it from people who know,” Dean said, “Once you’ve got a taste for revenge, it’s a hole you can never fill.” Sam looked at his brother, who kept his gaze steadily locked on Henry. Henry nodded, and lay Marion down.

“Henry… do you know where Mary Shaw is buried?” Henry frowned, wiping his eyes with his sleeve.

“You  boys aren’t forensic analysts, are you?”

Dean shook his head. “Nope. But we do know how to gank this mother before she kills anyone else.” Henry stared for a long moment, then nodded again.

“In a plot… in the woods, a few minutes from here. She’s buried next to all her dolls. It’s since been desecrated… barely any earth covering her bones anymore. I can take you there… if you’d like.” Dean dug around in his pocket.

“No- I’ve got a better idea. Take these, and go to the gravesite. If the bones are as exposed as you say, all you have to do is pour the salt and gasoline, and light ‘er up.”

Sam turned to his brother incredulously. “We can’t ask him to do that! We’ll do it ourselves!” Dean turned to him.

“Nah, you and me… are makin’ a trip back to that old theatre. That doll’s going down.” Sam sighed, and Henry took the materials.

“Anything I can do to help,” he offered, and Sam offered a smile.

“You’re going to be the hero of this town, Henry.” He smiled sadly.

“I just want it to stop,” he said, and the three went up the stairs.

Racing in the Impala to the theatre, Sam and Dean stayed on the phone with Henry.

“You at the stone?” Dean asked, turning a corner.

“Yes,” Henry’s voice crackled over, “The bones are still here… the other graves of the 99 dolls, though… they’re all empty!”

“That’s comforting,” Dean muttered, “I think we’ve seen them up at the old theatre. Must be a field trip!” He sighed. “Look, just do what we told you Henry, and call us when it’s finished,” he said, then hung up. The two got out, and ran across the planks into the theatre. Once inside, they made sure to avoid faulty footing just as they had on their last visit, and ran up to the room where they had found the book and the dummy.

“It’s gone,” Sam announced. Then they heard a giggle behind them, and Dean loaded rock salt rounds into his shotgun. Looking around, they heard the little voice:

“She’s coming for you. But first she’ll kill him.”

Sam exhaled, and Dean looked around for it.

Over at the gravesite in the forest, Henry struck a match after pouring the salt and gasoline on. Just as he was, he heard everything go silent around him… no rustling of the branches, no crunching leaves.

“No,” he whispered, “Not now…”

Before he could drop the match, he felt something hit him, and he went flying back. Opening his eyes, he saw her behind a tree, grinning. He squeezed his eyes shut. “No, no!” She flew at him, and he fell against the tree, groaning in a half-conscious state.

Back at the theatre, the doll giggled. “You’ll never find me!”

“Come out, you son of a bitch!” Dean shouted angrily.

“Only if you ask _nicely_!”

“Oh, fuck that, pal! We’re past manners,” he retorted. He suddenly shook his head. “Fucking hell, I’m talking to a dummy, Sam.”

“ _You’re_ the _dummy_!” the little voice said, and suddenly, Dean felt something sharp in his ankle. Looking down, he found a shard of glass through his jeans, and… Billy sitting beside him.

“Gah!” Dean startled, and aimed his gun at the doll. Just then, Sam shouted at him to wait, and grab the doll. Going over to the books, Sam began to rip out the old, brittle pages, and tossed them in a heap. Catching on, Dean placed Billy overtop as Sam flicked the lighter. They turned back to find Billy missing again.

“Son of a bitch!” Dean shouted, his voice echoing down the eerie hall, and Sam sighed.

“We’re gonna have to burn the rest of the dolls first, then. We’ll find him at some point- he can’t run that far.”

“This is goddamn balls,” Dean murmured, “Chasing a fucking dummy around.”

“When is our job ever not?” Sam huffed with a bit of a laugh, and Dean followed him out to where they had found the wall of creepy dolls earlier… and surprisingly, Billy was back in his position at the very end, head turned to stare at them.

“Good. Let’s light the bastards up.” Suddenly, each one seemed to be coming to life. “Okay… not good,” Dean mumbled.

“You got gasoline?!” Sam asked, and Dean checked his back pockets. Thank all that is holy, he had a flask of the stuff, and started tossing it all over the shelves. Soon, the glass started to break as the dolls began to break free, and Sam and Dean shielded their eyes as the match was thrown as well. Watching the wax melt was disturbing to say the least, their already-unsettling smiles dripping off into horrible frowns as their little bodies melted.

“That all of ‘em?!” Dean yelled over the crackle of the blazing fire.

“Think so!” Sam called back, “What about Henry?! Did he call?!”

Dean pulled out his phone, backing away from the fire so he could see the screen. “Shit… no missed calls. Something’s wrong.”

In the graveyard, Henry struggled to open his eyes. Mary was gone, but everything was a blur… did he still have the salt? The gas? The matches? Yes… He groaned, dragging himself away from the tree and over to the grave. The wind was back, whistling through the trees, which means she couldn’t be near… he could do this. He _would_ do this.

“Maybe he did it!” Sam suggested, “Maybe something happened to his phone!”

“When have things _ever_ worked our way?” Dean deadpanned, then tried calling Henry. The phone rang, but after five, nobody picked up. “Something’s definitely wrong,” he nodded, but on the sixth ring, the sound of the automated voicemail drowned out slowly, leaving nothing but…

“Dead silence,” Dean whispered, looking around, and Sam’s face suddenly took on a whole new level of terror.

“D-Dean,” he choked, staring past his shoulder, and Dean was almost afraid to turn around. Behind him sat a solitary clown doll, bigger than the rest. But there was something slithering out of its mouth…

“Oh…” Dean almost gagged, “Is that… what I think… it is?”

“A… rope of tongues tied together coming out of a c-clown?” Sam stuttered, biting his lip hard, “Yeah. Yeah, it is.”

“Dammit,” Dean muttered, reaching for his rock salt gun. Sam stayed firmly planted behind him, eyeing the clown wearily.

“Game’s up, Mary,” Dean said, “We’ve got you. We’re gonna watch you burn.” A faint, hissing voice surrounded them.

_“Let me… tell you… a secret…”_

Sam gulped, still remaining put, so Dean stepped forward. “Yeah?”

_“Lean in closer…”_

“Dean, don’t!”

Dean took another step against his brother’s advisement, and a hand suddenly reached out and grabbed Dean by the collar, yanking him behind the clown. Sam shouted his name, rushing at the clown and ready to tackle it despite his fears, but he was thrown against the burning wall by an invisible force. Oblivious to this, Dean was transfixed by the face in front of him- the face of Mary Shaw, stitched together to look like a doll herself. The rope of tongues slowly came out of her mouth toward Dean, and he felt the same invisible force that had hit him the first time squeezing his jaw. He grimaced, choking as his mouth was opened.

_Don’t scream. Don’t scream. Never, ever scream._

Sam rolled out of the fire, shedding his burning jacket and shaking himself off. He tried to get up, but his leg was trapped by a burning beam, and the leg of his jeans were slowly starting to burn away…

“You won’t take anyone else, Mary!” Henry called out into the night, holding the burning match and cradling a broken arm on the other side, “I saw you dead once… I’ll see it one last time!”

Dropping the match, the bones ignited, and the old mortician watched them burn.

Back at the theatre, just as Dean’s jaw was about to snap, the ghost in front of him went up in flames, letting out an anguished scream as she disappeared in a flurry of embers. Just as she vanished, Sam jerked his leg loose, and shook out the fire, running over to Dean. He had soot all over his face, and was coughing. Catching his breath, Dean looked up at his brother, and the mess of melted wax and flames around them.

“We’ve gotta… get out of here…” Sam coughed, clutching Dean’s arm and pulling him up. Dean supported his brother’s limp as they rushed out of the burning theatre, wood beginning to fall away behind them. They finally made it out, and came face to face with the Sheriff and a hoard of townspeople.

“You…” the Sheriff began, “You burned it down!” Sam and Dean looked at each other, expecting another arrest for helping out. Then the sheriff spoke again. “We were on our way to do the same.” He almost looked sheepish, most likely for outing himself as a believer.

“Wait… you were? Who are all these Tom, Dick, and Harrys behind you then?” Dean rasped, voice gravelly from the choking.

“We were the ones who ended this in the first place,” the Sheriff told him, looking down, “Or thought we did.”

“Sheriff, we still need your help,” Sam said, wincing as he limped forward, “There’s a man who needs our help over at Raven’s Fair cemetery.” As they drove away, a brilliant glow of the now-burning old place enveloped their rear-view.

“Henry did it,” Dean hissed.

“He did,” Sam agreed, running a hand through his singed hair. Dean floored it to the forest, and found Henry nursing his broken arm by the blazing grave.

“Henry!” he called, and the two went over.

“You boys… did it,” he managed out, wincing as he tried to stand, “She’s… she’s….

“Woah, woah,” Dean helped him, “You did it. C’mon, let’s get you to a hospital- we’ll get you there real fast, people are waiting for you. It’s all over.”

-0-0-0-

“Well… that happened,” Dean slurred, downing the last of four shots in the run-down bar that was just as empty as last time. Sam raised an eyebrow at him.

“Yeah.”

“You fuckin’ freaked at that clown, man,” Dean laughed, and Sam made a bitchface.

“You should have seen your face when she grabbed you!” Sam snapped back.

“Yeah, ‘cause my _jaw was being broken_ by a homicidal bitch!” Dean replied, rolling his eyes. “God, just another day at the office, huh?” This earned the brothers a good stare from the grouchy bartender. Dean smiled at her, sending a two-finger salute.

“Hey, uh… your friend’s back,” Sam chuckled, motioning over to the corner of the room.

“So he is,” Dean grinned, adjusting his collar. “Time for attempt _numero dos_.” Fluffing his hair up a bit, the older brother got up, and sauntered over to the big guy.

“Hi there,” Dean smirked, leaning on the side of the booth, “I might be barking up the wrong tree here, but you were a bit of a dick last time we talked. Maybe if you show me _yours_ , we can call it even.”

The guy just stared, and Dean rolled his eyes, deflating. “Fine, Jason Momoa, leave me to my-“

Suddenly, the guy got up, and grabbed Dean’s face, yanking him in for a kiss. Dean almost yelped, feeling the guy pull him closer..

“Man of little words… I respect that,” Dean cringed, petting his poor, sore jaw, “Just… grab me somewhere else for now, alright?” Feeling the guy’s hand on his ass, Dean turned around quickly to give Sam the thumbs up, and Sam just smiled back, shaking his head.

Onto the next.


End file.
